Sleepless Nights
by starry-oblivion
Summary: As Harry's seventeenth birthday approaches, Ron loses sleep over thoughts of the war and his family. He discovers that he isn't the only one to have such fears.


"Ron? Are you awake?"

What Ron would never admit to was that he was more than awake; he'd developed a bad case of insomnia over the summer, waiting for the day in which the Order of the Phoenix would transport Harry from Privet Drive and to the Burrow. He knew that once Harry's protection ran out on his seventeenth birthday, once the Weasleys accepted him into their house when Dumbledore was no longer around to protect them all, everything would change. And one day soon, without the slightest warning, he would have to pick up his things and leave, leave with Harry to places unknown, and say goodbye to his parents and his brothers and his sister. Sometimes, he even found himself praying that it wouldn't be a permanent goodbye, although whoever or whatever he was praying to didn't find it fit to relieve him of the guilty pit of fear weighing down his stomach.

So when he heard a soft step hesitantly enter his bedroom, he was most certainly awake. He couldn't let on that he hadn't slept a wink, though, or else she might worry, and he didn't want that. Feigning a yawn, Ron slowly sat up, rubbing at his eyes as he looked towards the door. "'Mione? Something wrong?"

The only light that shone in the room was the bit of moonlight coming in through the window, and even through the dimness, Ron could see that something was most assuredly wrong. Hermione held a robe tightly around her nightgown and hung by the door as she looked down. She usually strode into the room confidently, looking at him dead-on, and she seemed almost timid now by comparison.

"Hermione?" Throwing the covers off, Ron got up from the bed and approached her. His concern only grew when he saw her shrink back, stepping back out into the hallway and putting her hand over the doorknob.

"It's nothing," she whispered, glancing out into the corridor. "Sorry. I should go back to Ginny's room before I wake the others…." Her voice trailed off as Ron's warm hand slipped over the cooler one she had on the door. He was disappointed to find that, though she hesitated, she didn't look up to meet his eyes.

"I'm already up," he told her quietly, gently tugging on her hand. He didn't want any of his family waking up, either. Should his mum get up to find Hermione quietly sneaking out of his room in the middle of the night, she'd start a riot. Ginny would, too, but for entirely different reasons.

"I wasn't expecting you to be," Hermione admitted. "Sorry, I… I just wanted to talk, and Ginny was asleep, so I thought… never mind, it's stupid."

"What's stupid is you hanging out there and talking when you said you didn't want to wake anyone up," Ron told her, giving her hand another pull. "Come on, it's not a big deal. It's not like I'm going to get any sleep, anyway." Realizing that he might be implicating his insomnia, he added, "Not if I'm wondering what you wanted to talk about, I mean."

Though she still seemed hesitant, Hermione allowed Ron to lead her into the room, quietly closing the door behind her. He began to walk her over to the bed, but stopped and stumbled a little when something suddenly collided with him, and it took him a moment to realize that Hermione had stopped and had thrown herself at him, arms wrapped tightly around him as she buried her face in his chest. Surprised (and grateful that he was wearing freshly-laundered pajamas), Ron simply stood there, staring down at the small form bathed in moonlight that was clutching at him like a life preserver, before instinct took over and he put his arms around her.

They stood there in silence for a few moments, Ron's ears straining to pick up the sound of sobs or any other telltale signs of distress. But it seemed like she was only holding him, and though he was confused, he definitely wasn't going to complain. Teenage boys don't complain when pretty girls sneak into their bedrooms at night and want to be held.

"Ron," she finally breathed, and he felt something hot and ugly tear at his chest when he heard the way her voice cracked. "Can I-…. If I tell you something, can it be just between us? No one else, not Harry, or Ginny, or… or…?"

"Don't bother finishing that question, because you should know that you never even had to start it," Ron told her. "Gossiping has never really been my way, Hermione. You know that." Of course, that didn't mean that he never told Harry about the occasional confidential conversation here and there, but telling one's best mate was the equivalent of telling a wall; secrets are kept, no matter what. And besides, blokes don't _gossip_. They talk.

Hermione was obviously still reluctant to talk about it, and she looked off towards the window. From this angle, the moonlight shone directly on her eyes, and Ron found himself wondering if she was close to tears or if her eyes always looked so… so… well, he couldn't think of the word for them, but there was something about them that made them look really, _really_ nice. He felt bad for thinking so when she was obviously so upset, but he found himself thinking of those kinds of things a lot these days.

"They're probably gone now," Hermione murmured, voice sounding empty and hollow. "Everything I own and couldn't bring with me has likely gone off to charity. The house should be sold by now; it was a lovely house. I wish you could have come to visit me there just once."

It took Ron a moment to realize what Hermione was talking about. Her parents. By now, they were in Australia, and everything she knew about the life she'd had was gone with a simple _Obliviate_. Well, not quite so simple, as Hermione had had to modify their memories and make quite a few changes to many of their possessions (family photos, Christmas ornaments with such sentiments as "Baby's First Christmas," and the like). Whatever the case, it was gone, and Hermione was finally feeling the full strain of it.

He didn't know what to say, so he simply held her, looking down at her and waiting for her to speak again. He waited for a long time, and he wasn't renowned for his patience, so he struggled to add to the conversation. "Are you, er, having second thoughts?"

He winced when he heard the dry, mirthless laughter coming from her. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it? They're on the other side of the planet, I don't exist, and even if I did, I'm officially living on borrowed time."

The last bit caught him by surprise. "What are you talking about, 'borrowed time?'" And then he realized what that hot and ugly thing in his chest was: it was a surge of protectiveness so fierce that it was almost like red anger burning away at his heart, making him want to pull her to him and not let go until she complained about being unable to breathe.

As she looked up at him, he saw that her eyes were swimming with tears. "Let's stop playing games, Ron," she said shakily. "That's sort of the point of all of this. Harry needs to make it through this, and we've already pledged our lives to him and the Order. If we fail-"

"We won't," Ron interjected, realizing that she had the same fears that had plagued his sleepless nights.

"But if we do-"

"We _won't,_" he nearly growled, arms tightening around her without meaning to.

Hermione was silent for a moment. Then, in a soft, pleading voice, she asked, "Then why don't my parents have a daughter anymore?" It killed Ron a little to hear Hermione asking him a question, begging for an answer that she just didn't have.

"Because their daughter loves them," he answered simply. "That's why."

She closed her eyes, and Ron scowled as he saw a tear making its way down her pale cheek. "Ron," she whispered, not opening her eyes. Her mouth was open for a moment, as though she didn't know quite how to phrase her question. Finally, in a voice so thin that Ron had to stop breathing for a moment to ensure that he heard it, she asked, "Do you think I did the right thing?"

He looked at her for a moment, staring at her closed eyelids in silence. Her brow seemed to furrow as time ticked by, as though viewing every second in which he was silent as a sign that she'd been very much in the wrong. She was surprised, then, to feel a hand gently stroke her cheek, and she opened her eyes to see Ron looking down at her, expression soft and shockingly tender.

"You sacrificed your past and are willing to give up on your future, all to keep your parents – and _countless people_ – safe from You-Kn-… from Voldemort. You're putting yourself through hell and back, because you know that lives depend on it. You're sticking by Harry _and_ by me, even though nobody's forcing you to stand by us." He scoffed gently, shaking his head. "Bloody hell, Hermione, if you're not doing the right thing, then I don't think anyone in the world is _capable _of doing the right thing."

Ron never really cared for Legilimency, but he wished he had that skill right now so he could look into her eyes and know just what Hermione was thinking. It would be a handy skill to have, especially when dealing with girls, with all of their emotions and thoughts and general weirdness. But for now, he was left in the dark, wondering if what he'd said even made the slightest bit of sense to anyone other than his sleep-deprived mind.

He was willing to wager that he hadn't entirely mucked it up when she hid her face in his chest again, giving him a squeeze. Good. This was all right. In fact, he could get used to getting more reactions like this from Hermione.

"I know it's right," she murmured, her voice slightly muffled against him. "I know it, logically. But… but if it's right, why does it…."

"Feel wrong?"

Hermione nodded.

"Because you love them," Ron answered, without really thinking. "And the funny thing about love is that, no matter how much you try or who it is you're loving, it's just never logical. Trust me; I oughta know."

He was glad that she couldn't see the blush on his cheeks, though he was certain she could hear the way his heart nearly skidded to a stop as she asked, "Oh? And how would you know?"

Shrugging, Ron responded, "I've got a bit of family. And don't let this get around, but I kinda love them. Even those good-for-nothing twins and that Ministry prat."

"Ron! Don't call-"

"Percy's a prat, Hermione," Ron broke in tiredly. "He was born a prat, he lives on as a prat, and he'll die a prat. But before being a prat, he's a Weasley, so I love him just the same, whether he's ever going to see the light or not. Because that's what love is. Illogical, remember?"

After a pause, Hermione morbidly added, "And painful."

Ron said nothing for a moment before he gave her a gentle squeeze. "It doesn't have to be," he whispered. He wondered if he was imagining the way she tensed up under his grasp, or the way she suddenly seemed to give against him with a gentle sigh. Or if she was even in the room at all, since he could very well have fallen asleep in bed and have been dreaming all of this.

"No," she agreed. "It doesn't have to be."

He nodded, his hand absently smoothing down her back. Thoughts started racing through his head, impossible thoughts, thoughts about telling Hermione how he felt about her before something happened to one of them (Merlin forbid). He also thought that perhaps he should wait, wait until the war was over so he had something to fight for, and explain things then; surely he'd have done something by then that would prove him worthy of at least a bit of affection? And then he thought about how he would feel, seeing the awkward discomfort in her eyes as she explained to him that she'd done all this for Harry, and he would only ever be what he was right now: a friend with whom one could pass sleepless nights and share insecure secrets.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Ron?"

"… wanna stay here for the night?"

As expected, Hermione looked up at him, looking positively scandalized. "Stay here? B- but your parents...! Ginny…!"

"Are asleep," he concluded. "And we're not. So there's no harm in us staying up together, is there? I'm not sleepy, and if you fall asleep, I'll take the floor. I don't see the fuss." Which was a blatant lie, of course, considering the way his cheeks were now clashing brilliantly with his hair.

"Why aren't you sleepy?" Hermione asked.

Rather than go into it, Ron merely shrugged. "I got a nap in earlier."

Seeming to think about it, Hermione bit her lip before responding, "If I start to get tired, I'm going back to Ginny's room."

Ron shrugged. "No one's forcing you, one way or the other. I just asked if you wanted to stay."

"… what would we do?"

"What we're doing right now," Ron returned. Thinking about it, he added, "Only sitting down, so our feet don't hurt." She blinked at him, then looked down at themselves. It was only then that Ron realized that his suggestion didn't come off as so much talking as it did, well, holding one another awfully, _awfully_ close.

And that made it even more surprising when she conceded to gently pull him towards the bed. He felt his heart racing in his chest; a girl was going to spend the night in his bed. And that girl was Hermione Granger. Bloody hell, Weasley, don't foul this up.

They sat side-by-side, backs against the headboard. Ron wasn't used to sharing his small bed with someone else, and so he kept an arm around her, just to make sure she wouldn't fall out. It was a bit of a dodgy logic, but he'd already said that logic didn't play much of a part in all this.

For a while, they tried to talk, but eventually decided that it was much better this way, just quietly holding one another. A few minutes later, Ron realized that Hermione's breathing had evened out, and he laughed a little to himself; so much for going back to Ginny's room. He could always wake Hermione up before dawn and have her sneak back into her bed.

What Ron hadn't been counting on was that, right there, holding Hermione, he no longer felt worried or guilty or afraid. There was no room for that. He needed to watch out for her, to protect her, and he would do just that. His family would be safe, her family would be safe, and it was up to him to make sure that the both of them would return to see them again.

It wasn't until the morning came that Ron realized he'd fallen asleep, head resting atop of Hermione's, his insomnia cured.


End file.
